


Laeti Triumphantes     (A Narrative of a Christmas Eve at St. Pancras Station, London, The World)

by redcurlzbychoice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A genderfluid demon will never be in need of pronouns, Aziraphale Can Sing, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bringing Joy To The World, Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley can Sing, Crowley plays the Piano, Established Relationship, Fluff, GO Christmas, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21972076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcurlzbychoice/pseuds/redcurlzbychoice
Summary: Maybe the notion of more than two millennia of Christmasses and the silly rituals humans had developed had gotten into their heads. Maybe it was Aziraphale‘s love for beautiful music that triggered it, and Crowley‘s annoyance at humankind and how they always managed to mess up even the most promising opportunities to be nice to each other had spiralled it. But sometime between the fifth bottle of wine and dawn they had decided to give it a try.———————Unbeknownst to anybody in hell and on earth (heaven got left out anyway) Crowley had for centuries now taken piano lessons with most of the great composers who’d ended up in hell.The first Christmas Eve after Armageddidn‘t Crowley and Aziraphale bring Joy to the World at St. Pancras Station, making good use of their hidden talents in music.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 40





	Laeti Triumphantes     (A Narrative of a Christmas Eve at St. Pancras Station, London, The World)

„C’mon, Angel! Let’s!“ Crowley said.

„Oh, dear, should we really?“ Aziraphale, as often as not, was hesitating again. „Don’t you think this might draw too much attention unto us? I’m so happy they‘ve left us alone for the last couple of months. I really don’t dare to stir up anything.“ To add, with his shy smile and contented look that never ceased to melt Crowley’s heart, „But it indeed is a splendid idea!“

„Just to ease your mind, Angel: Your lot would appreciate it anyway, if they knew, there‘s no way they couldn’t. And if my former side will find out at all, with the general tetchiness oozing everywhere today, I‘ll tell ’em to bugger off in the first place and if they don’t, that I hold off people and for the loss of time they will be even nastier to each other afterwards.“

„You do know that‘s not what it‘s going to be like.“ Again, a look that was perfectly balanced between mild reproach and fond affection, and which would translate in plain English to something in the like of „You do have the kindest of all demonic hearts and I love you for it, among uncountable other reasons.“ Before Crowley could even start to wince, though, Aziraphale continued. „These humans who will take the time to listen will be uplifted and be able to regain knowledge of what‘s really important in life to spend time for, you do know that.“

„Now, c‘mon, Angel, no need to rub it in, hm? ‘Course I know,“ Crowley took a pause, and Aziraphale had to smile again, because both knew very well that Crowley just now surely hadn’t referred to the last spoken sentence.  
It had been some months since Armageddidn’t, and they little by little were getting settled into their new Arrangement. Crowley was getting used to acknowledge that there wasn’t so much deep down evil to be found in this demonic vessel (nowhere near to be called „kind“ openly yet, but not wincing anymore was a pretty good start) and Aziraphale let himself ever so slowly be persuaded to try something new, like being showered with the unfaltering love of this impossibly kind demon or doing something completely unheard of, as their plans were for today.

It had started, as so often, with a relaxed conversation in the back room of the bookshop. Maybe a couple of bottles of Chateau-Neuf Du Pape had been involved, as so often. Maybe the notion of more than two millennia of Christmasses and the silly rituals humans had developed had gotten into the conversation. Maybe it was Aziraphale‘s love for beautiful music that triggered it, and Crowley‘s annoyance at humankind and how they always managed to mess up even the most promising opportunities to be nice to each other had spiralled it. But sometime between the fifth bottle and dawn they had decided to give it a try.

„Well, heaven‘s gonna give shit or even like it, and hell most probably won‘t even find out, so, c‘mon, Angel, let‘s do it! I surely didn‘t change for nothing!“ Crowley leaned in and shot an audacious look towards the angel. Aziraphale had to admit, indeed, that Crowley looked more than stunning for the occasion. The demon had put on a somewhat more female corporation with the hair grown out in long auburn strands that flowed over broad but delicate shoulders, and a refined and daring Le Smoking Suit clung to a slightly curvier bodily shape, yet emphasised still narrow hips.

It was Christmas Eve and Crowley was the epitome of androgynous style.

„Now then, shall we leave, my dear? Is there anything else that you need to take along?“ Aziraphale asked, and paused, suddenly becoming aware that this was an outright invitation for Crowley, who never these days let slip an opportunity for „A kiss? Sure, if you ask me so nicely, Angel, I do think I should be in need of a kiss before we leave,“ and Aziraphale realised with delight that there was no chance for them leaving unkissed ever again.  
He leaned in further to Crowley and their lips melted into each other. It was not the starved kissing of their first weeks together, but still both shivered from delight in being able to touch and feel their corporations without restraints. Crowley had cupped the angel’s face with these heavenly gentle hands, and Aziraphale embraced his demon‘s body, as he had become so eager to caress this beautiful vessel in every shape Crowley chose to present in. Holding Crowley fast, the angel allowed himself to be drowned in the love that Crowley could so eloquently let flow from these lush lips, painted deep dark red tonight to match the glorious long auburn hair.

  
  


A fleeting eternity later passers-by in St. Pancras’ Station noticed a couple that were heading for the vacant piano in The Arcade. The pudgy blonde man in the slightly worn coat seemed a little uneasy about their intentions, but the dazzling tall redhead slithered jauntily on the stool without any hesitation, opened up the cover and skimmed lightly yet lovingly over the keys with long fingers that seemed to be made to caress these ivories. (*)

The first people slowed down in their shopping endeavours, drawn by the affection that radiated off this unlikely pair.  
When the first soft notes rose from the piano into the busy hall, suspended in the air as if of no earthly origin, a lot of people started smiling for no particular reason and a few actually stopped and started to listen to the music.  
The man and the redhead exchanged looks and hardly noticeable for others they smiled and nodded in unison. The dextrous fingers played an intro, and then the soft warm baritone of the white blonde man joined the sounds under the iconic roof. (**)  
„Adeste fideles, laeti triumphantes! Venite, venite, in Bethlehem! Natum videte, Regem angelorum.“  
A small crowd was forming around the piano, and it grew larger and larger, for now the redhead joined in with a crystal clear soprano,  
„Venite, adoremus! Venite, adoremus! Venite, adoramus Dominum! Venite, adoramus Dominum!“  
„Oh, come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant! Come here, come to Bethlehem! Look at the newborn son, the Ruler of angels!  
Come nearer, let us adore him! Come here, let us hallow him! Come, let us beseech the Lord!“ (***)

People stood and listened. The sounds of the single piano, the baritone and the soprano combined in the profane train station to music of the spheres. And what was more, everybody who listened was moved deeply in their hearts by the voices of the two singers, joined in sound and a love that transgressed music, an all-embracing love for the whole world and all beings therein. A love that encompassed these two beings so obviously, and they chose to share it with whoever had a heart to hear and to listen.  
The well known story unfurled anew in the mind of the listeners, who didn’t pause to wonder how on earth they understood Latin today, and they remarked details they had never seen before, why the Son was born a helpless baby, how the arrival of a newborn sent love and hope and happy smiles into anybody’s face and heart who had heard of it, how the shepards had been scared by the righteous Angels and why the new king was born a pauper.  
But nothing excelled the sting in anybody’s heart when the two in one of the latter stanzas sang the verse „Sic nos amantem quis non redamaret?“, their eyes locked into each other, because the way they sang it revealed the craving to love and be loved back, the fear of not being loved and the rapture of realising that one indeed was loved in return, all conveyed in the few Latin words. And the smile that lit up their faces and the whole area when they sang the following chorus alternatingly „Venite adoremus!“ „Venite adoremus!“ made it clear that these two truly worshipped each other and thanked the Lord for the grace of their love.

When the pair ended the choral with the piano fading the last note into silence, the Station seemed entranced in a moment of time being stilled.  
The man walked from the side of the piano where he had stood during the song, facing the pianist, over to behind the stool, put his hands ever so gently onto the shoulders of the player and slightly bent forward to whisper something into an ear hidden behind ember curls. Maybe it was about what their next song would be, but maybe it was an affirmation of how much he loved this splendid being with all his heart and soul.  
The redhead slightly brushed his cheek with lips matching the flaming hair, and they man took his place again to sing one of the old Chorals by Luther, of the Angel from Heaven Above annunciating the birth of Christ to the shepherds. And again, the old German words found their way into the hearts of the listeners, because the man sung as if he himself had been announcing this good news to the sheperds of everywhere and anytime.

They pair went on to play and sing Christmas Songs and Carols, starting out with well known European, but whenever someone from another part of the world would halt to listen they would come up with the one favourite choral loved from early childhood on, recreating this warm and homely feeling people scattered in foreign parts of the world seldom experience.  
Languages were no obstacles, everybody sensed the meaning of the words intuitively and sometimes even started to sing along, blissfully remembering second to fifth stanzas word by word. But most of the time the passers-by simply listened, mesmerised by the harmonies rising above the bustle of Christmas Eve in the busy station, brought forth by this heartwarming soft baritone and the soprano, clear and brilliant like the stars high above in a cold winter‘s night.

People took their time to absorb the music into their hearts, and when they would go on with their travels or shopping they were able to enjoy the „quiet time of year“ again, shake off the general rush and tetchiness that is taking over the spirit of the festive season so often nowadays.

Parents stood and listened with their children, and even the teenagers found their parents less vexing for the next couple of days.  
Couples stood closer to each other than usual, holding hands, inspired by the love they felt in the music. In the rear a tall man with eyes so blue they seemed on the verge of lilac put his arm around a petite person who had to struggle a little to snuggle up closely against him because of a hairdo and hat that even for London standards was quite outrageous, both rejoicing in the truce brought on by Christmas, before they left for a merry night elsewhere. Strangers smiled at each other and everybody felt less lonely, while the pair at the piano performed songs of joy and good tidings to mankind.

They went on for hours singing and playing, taking a break from time to time, in which the baritone mostly chatted with whoever was near, while the soprano went to bring snacks for the two of them to nibble on and drinks to keep their vocal chords smooth, never missing a chance to fondle the other with a casual touch of their hands.

They stayed in the station until late, when only the homeless and the last staff members, the security people and the lost souls of London were left about to hear. The salespeople from the foodplaces had brought with them the leftovers of the day, delicious food that usually would have been thrown away. No one thought of such tonight though, and so everybody sat together and feasted on the ambrosial meal, that was just the right amount to feed all of them until everybody was satisfied.

Only then these two heavenly voices sang this song that from a small parish church in northern Austria with a damaged organ had made its way into most major languages of the world, and thus into the souls of nearly anybody who had ever heard of Christmas. They sang acapella, the piano resting for the night. The high and the low voice mingled and intertwined, and filled the now silent nightly space of St. Pancras with their ethereal harmonies. They welcomed the birth of a child born more than two thousand years ago, and welcomed the birth of every single child that had been born ever since, created to be a unique and exceptional being throughout its live, and radiant beams of love’s pure light filled everyone’s soul. They sang of God’s redeeming grace and for one miraculous holy night even lost and fallen souls were granted heavenly peace.

——————————

(*) Unbeknownst to anybody in hell and on earth (heaven got left out anyway) Crowley had for centuries now taken piano lessons with most of the great composers, just because the demon liked the sound of the vibrating strings. Of course Crowley could have taken to learn the harp just as well, but playing the piano was obviously so much cooler, not to mention the vast opportunities of using these skills in mastering the keys in the more recent Rock Music.  
It had been an immense advantage that most composers ended up in hell. The musicians were very eager to pass on their skills for some relief of their hellish chores.

(**) Angels might not dance, but they do sing quite a lot in their heavenly choirs. Aziraphale was content enough with a rather usual range of voice, nothing too extreme, just settling nicely in. He made up for it unintentionally though as his more than loving soul made him a natural Bel canto with a timbre as warm as rays of golden sunshine.

(***) After some time, Crowley had taken up singing lessons as well. Mozart had been humming and singing throughout the piano classes quite annoyingly anyway and being genderfluid helped immensely with Crowley’s vocal range. Actually, with Crowley being able to nail any note between bass and soprano, the notion of _not_ being allowed to teach the eager demon singing techniques proved to be more anguishing than any torment hell could ever come up with for Händel, Bach and the lot of the baroque composers in general.

For this first ever public performance though Crowley and Aziraphale had decided that the demon would stick to a more female range and appearance. They didn‘t want to draw too much attention onto them, and with a range of five octaves plus Crowley’s stunning looks there was no miracle grand enough to hinder some human from noticing Crowley’s star shaping qualities.

————————-

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Have a peaceful and quiet holiday anybody out there!
> 
> As always, your kudos would make me light up like a Christmas tree.  
>    
> ———-
> 
> Ever since I saw these pianos at St. Pancras and listened to the beautiful music some astounding people play on them, it has itched in my brain to write a piece about Crowley playing piano with his delicate long fingers and legs. 
> 
> Yesterday morning with the house full of Chistmas music and smells it all fell into place.  
> Who needs sleep when there is a story antepartum in the night of nativity ...?


End file.
